Caged
by LadyWallace
Summary: A routine case brings Castiel face to face with Crowley for the first time since the Purgatory debacle. Needless to say the demon is not exactly happy to see the angel again. It's up to Sam and Dean to find Cas before it's too late. (Katabasis Verse #5)
1. Chapter 1

**Here is another continuation of the Katabasis verse! This one a multi-chapter one. Again, you don't *have* to have read the previous ones to understand this, but you might want to for context. There will be illusions to events in the previous stories.**

 **Hope you all enjoy! And I'm happy to see all the excitement you guys have for the continuation of this verse ^_^**

Caged

A Supernatural Fanfic

Chapter One

Castiel glided over the trees, glancing down at the birds and other creatures running through the woods, and enjoying the smell of hot pine needles in the sun on this warm summer day. Ever since he had learned he could fly with his wings in their corporeal state, he had taken to going on flights as much as he could, whenever he got the chance. Of course, he had to be careful to do it in places where people wouldn't see him, but Bobby's property was already sort of out in the middle of nowhere, and it didn't take long for him to reach the woods where there was only a rare chance of anyone catching sight of him. Out here there were just the creatures of the forest.

He flew upward again, surprising a falcon who made a sound of warning, but Castiel reached out to it with his grace, letting it know he meant no harm. It eyed him for a moment before it dived after some rodent in the forest. Castiel flapped his wings a couple more times and caught a thermal, gliding idly around on it for a while, before he realized it was probably time to head back to Bobby's.

Once the scrap yard came into sight, Castiel swooped in low and landed in the front yard, just as the door to the house opened and Dean came out.

"Hey, I was hoping you'd be back soon," he said. "We got a case. Strange deaths a few towns over. Sheriff Mills called us, said it sounded like our kind of thing."

Castiel suppressed a sigh as he tucked his wings behind him and dematerialized them back to the ethereal plane. It's not that he regretted getting into hunting full-time, it's just that sometimes he would like more time to relax between cases. Unlike Dean, he could sit around with nothing but books and flying trips to keep him occupied. But lives needed to be saved, and fallen angel or not, Castiel would always consider himself a guardian of humanity.

"I'll pack my things," he said, making his way inside.

"Don't forget the Fed threads," Dean called. "We leave in fifteen."

Soon, the three of them were piled into the Impala, driving south as Sam looked over the information they had been given on the case.

"I guess another sheriff Jody knows reached out to her on this one," Sam said. "On the surface, it looks like a string of serial murders, but once you start digging it's weirder."

"Like how?" Dean asked.

"Well, for one all the vics were in locked rooms or houses. The investigators couldn't find any way the killer could have gotten in. No open windows, no damaged locks, or anything. On both cases, they had to break their way into the houses." He flipped a page and grunted. "So, get this. The only thing CSI found around any possible openings was trace evidence of sulfur."

"So, demons," Castiel said wryly.

"Seems like," Sam replied. "So far, I can't find any evidence that the vics made demon deals or anything. They seemed like just normal people. Low risk victims for demons or serial killers."

"Then it must be something else," Dean said. "Despite the fact that demons are bastards, they don't just kill people."

"Especially since Crowley's taken over Hell," Castiel said grimly. "He'd think that was 'bad business'."

Just the thought of the new King of Hell made Castiel's stomach churn. He tried to put the past behind him, but despite the penance he had more than paid in Hell, he didn't think he would ever truly forgive himself for joining Crowley to stop Raphael. If for nothing else than for the grief he had caused his friends. He was extremely glad they had put that behind them.

"Well, whatever this is, another body dropped this morning, so there's no indication it's going to stop any time soon," Dean said. "If Crowley can't keep a leash on his goons, then he's gonna have bigger problems than running Hell."

Once they got into town they booked a motel room, changed into their FBI clothes and went to the site of the most recent murder.

The police and CSI were still there when they pulled up, as well as a few gawkers from the neighborhood. Dean parked the Impala down the street and they got out, showing their badges to one of the officers who let them over the tape.

They went inside and went over to the man who looked like he was in charge.

Dean flashed his badge. "Agent Johnson; these are my partners, you the lead on this case?"

The man nodded, holding out his hand for them to shake. "Yeah. Detective Ferris. Was wondering when you would show up."

"Well, three murders with the same MO in as many weeks caught our interest," Sam said. "What's the time of death on this one?"

"Best we can tell, sometime in the early hours of the morning," the detective said, leading them into the other room where the body was.

Castiel instantly smelled the sulfur, and he winced at the blood that covered the room. He crossed over to the body that was lying at the foot of the bed, covered by a tarp, and carefully lifted the sheet to look at the woman.

She was in her mid thirties, blond, had probably been pretty, but now her features were all but destroyed. She had been tortured mercilessly. He thought there was something else about her too, but there was so much blood, it was hard to detect anything else like he normally would have been able to. So many cuts and stab wounds…

Castiel swiftly tucked the sheet back over her, closing his eyes as flashes of his own torments in Hell came to him. He stood up swiftly, and saw Sam cast a concerned look at him, but he shook his head.

"So, she was tortured to death, and no one heard anything?" Dean asked skeptically. "This place isn't exactly in the middle of nowhere."

The detective shrugged. "I'm as baffled as you. I guess the killer muffled her pretty good. We still don't know how this guy is getting in."

"We saw in the report that you found sulfur at the last two scenes," Sam said. "Did you find it here too?"

The detective ran a hand though his hair. "Yeah. Some on that windowsill over there. CSI is taking a sample back to the lab, but so far we haven't been able to figure out what its significance is. It doesn't factor into the torture, as none of the victims had any on them. Best guess we have is maybe this guy is a chemist? Who else would have sulfur on them? If it's a signature, it's a strange one."

Sam and Dean shared a look and then excused themselves from the detective.

"Well?" Dean asked.

"It's definitely a demon," Castiel replied. "But I have no idea why a demon would want to torture someone like this for no reason. And you're right, this isn't a deal come due, as she was not killed by a hellhound."

"We need to look into the victimology more," Sam said. "See if there's any connection between these people that we missed.

"Okay," Dean said and reached into his pocket for the car keys. "I'll stay here, see if there's anything we missed on the scene, you and Cas head to the morgue to check out the other bodies."

Sam nodded, taking the keys, and Castiel followed him outside to the car. They drove to the morgue and were shown in by the coroner when they showed their badges.

"Well, these are the bodies from the last two murders, gentlemen," the man said, pulling out the proper trays with the cadavers on them. I'll go grab the full autopsy reports for you."

"Thanks," Sam said, and he and Castiel turned to inspect the bodies. These two, a man and another woman, had also been tortured mercilessly. The man even had one eye missing. Castiel shook his head.

"This torture, it's…methodical," he said, looking at the cuts working their way up and down the two victim's bodies. "I think this was more about information than simply torment."

"But what we need to figure out is what sort of information a demon would be trying to get out of these people," Sam said, a furrow forming between his brows.

Castiel leaned closer to the nearest body and inhaled slightly. There was no hint of sulfur, but…he frowned, and touched the victim's forehead, reaching out with his grace to feel out the molecular structure of the body. Realization struck him, and he swiftly turned to the other body to do the same thing.

"Cas?" Sam asked. "You find something?"

"Well, I did find a connection between the victims," he said grimly. "They were all possessed by demons previously." That was what he had been trying to detect from the woman at the crime scene, but with his powers so low, he hadn't been able to do so past all the blood and the sulfuric reek at the scene.

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Wait…you can tell?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes, it's harder after the soul has left a body, but demonic possession leaves a mark. The possession wasn't recent, but all of these people were possessed at one point."

"Huh," Sam said, shaking his head. "That just makes this even weirder. Why would demons go after old meat suits?"

Castiel glanced down at the corpses again. "Perhaps they saw something when they were possessed that the demons need to know."

"Well, whatever it is, we need to find out fast, before they go after more people," Sam said, and Castiel agreed fully.

They picked up the autopsy files from the coroner and Sam called Dean to tell him they were done at the morgue.

They met Dean at a diner in town and had lunch while they discussed what they had found.

"So all the vics were demon puppets," Dean said as he took a bite of his hamburger. "Why the hell would demons be after old meatsuits?"

"That's what we need to figure out," Castiel said, picking at his bowl of chili. He wasn't very hungry considering everything that had happened. "It possible they saw something when they were possessed. Maybe something they weren't supposed to."

"Yeah, but if the possessions weren't recent, then why now?" Sam asked. "And if it was just that they saw something they shouldn't have, the demons would probably just kill them, not go through the trouble of torturing them to death."

"He's right, whoever killed these people was after information," Castiel said.

"Well, there were no other clues at the crime scene," Dean said. "I think we need to start looking for demonic signs here, see where they're coming from. They probably have a base of operations somewhere close by."

"Do the police have any suspects so far?" Sam asked.

"Not so much as a security camera photo," Dean shook his head. "No one's got anything useful on this case and we have no idea who will be hit next."

"Unless Cas has some way to figure out who else in this town has been possessed as some point," Sam said, turning to the angel.

But Castiel shook his head regretfully. "No, I'm afraid that unless I crossed paths with the person I wouldn't be able to tell."

"Well, let us know if you see anyone," Dean said. "In the meantime, Sam, you check into local weird and see if demonic signs culminate anywhere in particular."

They finished their lunch and then Sam went to a coffee shop with his laptop to use the internet while Dean and Castiel visited the first two crime scenes to see if there were any other clues hiding.

But even after talking to the neighbors they didn't have any more leads. No one seemed to have seen or heard anything useful.

By the time they finished, the sun was setting and they decided to reconvene for the night and rethink their case.

"I don't know," Dean said, loosening his tie and tossing it and his suit jacket onto his bed. "Maybe we should just try summoning a demon and grilling him for info."

"There must be something else we're missing," Sam said, still on his laptop. "I mean, there are some demonic signs in the vicinity, but nothing that shows where they might be hiding out. And with demons torturing people here, then that's probably enough to show signs anyway."

"Well, whatever it is, we're not getting anything else tonight," Dean said, heading toward the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower, then we can go grab something for dinner."

He disappeared into the small room and the shower turned on. Castiel sighed, glancing out the window from where he was sitting on one of the beds. His wings itched to be out of the ethereal plane, and he really wanted nothing more than to go for a flight right now, but knew there was no way he could chance it in the populated environment. However, he was still feeling restless without anything to do to help with the case at the moment.

"Should I go pick up something to eat? Pizza maybe?" he asked Sam, having seen a pizza place down the street when they drove in.

"Yeah, that would be great, Cas," Sam said, glancing up from his computer for a moment.

Castiel grabbed his coat and left the motel room, making his way down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets.

He mused on the case, wondering if this might have something to do with Crowley. Perhaps the demon was planning something or was trying to find out some information he thought important. Either way, Castiel couldn't shake the feeling that this was bigger than they thought and that they were definitely missing something.

He got to the pizza place and reached for the door handle, only to have the door open and nearly hit him.

"Oh my, I'm sorry," the woman apologized, as she exited the store with several pizzas in thermal cases stacked in her arms.

"Oh, no, you're fine," Castiel assured her, and held the door open so she could exit. He was about to slide inside, when he caught a certain sense from the woman. The door slid from his hand as he turned to watch her hurrying to her car with one of the pizza place signs on the roof of it, wondering if he had been wrong.

But, no, as he reached out with his grace he saw he had been right. This woman's soul bore the mark of possession.

Before he could think of propriety, he hurried after her toward the parking lot where she had finished loading her pizzas and was getting into her car. "Um, ma'am…"

But her car door closed and she was already driving off. Castiel stopped, memorizing the license plate so maybe Sam could look it up.

But then he noticed a car parked on the other side of the street pull out after the woman's car and follow her. Castiel's breath caught in his throat as he saw the driver through the window and recognized his demonic signature.

He hurried down the street after them, knowing he couldn't lose them as he pulled his phone from his pocket, swiftly dialing Sam.

"Cas?" Sam's voice came. "You get the pizza already?"

"Sam, I found the demon and his next victim," Cas said urgently, cringing under his breath as the cars began to outpace him. He hurried behind the building.

"What?" Sam's voice became urgent. "Cas, where are you?"

"Several blocks from the motel but they're on the move. I'm going to follow them, and I'll tell you the address once I have it." He told Sam the woman's license plate just in case he couldn't find her.

"Okay, fine, but, Cas, just don't go in alone, okay?" Sam said. "Dean and I are right behind you."

"Of course, I'll talk later," Castiel said and ended the call. He swiftly glanced around to make sure no people were there and pulled his wings from the ethereal plane and with a couple flaps and a jump, he was airborne and flying out over the town.

He saw the cars again, and followed them. The woman drove to an apartment building and parked in the parking garage. Castiel landed on the top of the garage and swiftly ran down the stairs to the level the woman had parked on. He saw her exit the car with her pizzas and then saw the demon get out of his car and follow her swiftly.

"Stop!" Castiel cried, breaking into a run, reaching for his angel blade.

The demon turned and grinned when he saw him, but swiftly turned and attacked the woman, hitting her over the back of the head before she could get to the elevator.

She went down with a shout, pizza boxes scattering over the ground.

Castiel caught up to the demon then, and tackled him to the ground. The demon growled and kicked him away, but Castiel pulled his blade out, falling into a fighting crouch, standing between the demon and the fallen woman.

"Leave her alone," he growled.

"Or what?" the demon sneered. "What are you gonna do, _angel_? You're not at full power, even I can see that." He grinned then. "I bet Crowley would be happy to see you though."

He lunged and that turned out to be his mistake. Castiel dodged a punch and came up under the demon's defenses, stabbing him through the chest. The demon died with a shout, sparking out before he collapsed on the ground.

Castiel swiftly knelt beside the woman who was already groaning.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

"Yes, what…what happened?" she asked, looking confused and then her eyes widened as she saw the dead demon. "Oh god!"

"It's okay," Castiel tried to assure her. "Listen, he's not the only one, there will be more after you. Is there somewhere you can go where you'll be safe?"

She still looked dazed, but then she pointed behind Castiel. "Um, who are they?"

Castiel turned to see more demons running around the corner, snarling when they spotted him."

"Go. Go!" Castiel told the woman, hauling her to her feet and pushing her toward the stairs. "Just find somewhere safe and pour salt in front of all the doors and windows."

"What?" she cried.

"Trust me!" Castiel shouted, readying his blade. His phone was ringing, and he answered it as he waited for the demons.

"Cas," Dean's voice came. "Where the hell are you?"

"Apartment building on 6th Street," Castiel told him. "There are demons here and maybe more on the way."

"Cas, just get out of there!" Dean demanded. "We'll be there soon!"

Castiel looked between the phone and the demons and made his choice. His wings shimmered into existence to shouts from the demons and he ran over to the side of the garage, ready to jump out.

"Get him! It's Castiel!" one of the demons shouted and Castiel was just wondering whether his wings would be able to clear the space provided when someone slammed into him from behind and he went down hard on the concrete.

He rolled, coming up with his blade ready, striking out at the demon with his wings. The demon went flying, but three more came at him. Castiel struck out with his blade, slashing one across the face, and stabbing another in the gut, but the rest of the demons bore down on him, and more were coming.

He suddenly felt something heavy and cold circle around his chest, and then before he could fight away from it, it tightened around his wings, which he had tucked tight to his body to avoid the demon's touch. He struggled, seeing it was chain that had sigils on it. Frantically, he tried to pull his wings back to the ethereal plane to give himself some room to move, but he found himself unable to do so.

That was when panic settled in. He had lost his blade at some point and all he felt were demons' hands on him, holding him down, hands clutching his wings, and pulling the chains tight around his upper body and his legs until he could only squirm.

He thrashed, shouting at the demons, but all it did was make them laugh at him. One of them picked up his blade and she crouched down beside him, running the point of it mockingly down his cheek.

"Oh, Crowley is going to be so happy to see you," she chuckled, standing up and kicking Castiel in the ribs.

"Yeah, he's been looking for his old business partner," another demon added, grinning.

"And what a rare thing to see an angel with all his feathers, just…ripe for the plucking." The female demon added suggestively, bending over again to run her fingers none-too-gently through Castiel's feathers.

"Stop," he growled, flinching away.

The demons only laughed, until one of them stepped forward.

"Now now, Carla, his majesty might get upset if we rough him up too much, deprive him of the fun. But I'm sure he'll let all of us have a turn after he's done with him."

The female demon pouted, but stepped back as the other demon, probably the leader, took Castiel's angel blade from her and crouched in front of him.

"Now, it's time for you to say hi to your old business partner."

Castiel made one last attempt to struggle free but it was no use. The demons held him tight as they made their escape, hauling him into the void.


	2. Chapter 2

**On to chapter two! Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far! Also thanks to my guest reviewers, Guest1254 and Kathy :)**

Chapter Two

Castiel was dropped to the ground on the other side, collapsing in a heap, his stomach heaving. He choked on bile, retching into the ground. Demonic transportation was not at all friendly to angels, especially when his wings and grace were bound from the sigiled chains. He groaned as hands gripped him under the arms, and he was hauled up, and dragged several feet to a cell before he was dropped unceremoniously to the ground again, the breath whooshing out of him.

A chuckle was heard as the door slammed shut, and Castiel looked up to see the female demon leering down at him.

"Just wait until his majesty shows up," she said. "Then we'll see just how many feathers you have in those pretty wings of yours."

Castiel just glowered at her, but the effect was rather ruined by the fact that he was lying in an undignified heap of chains and feathers. The demons just laughed again and locked the door before walking off down the corridor, chatting about all the things they wished Crowley would do or let them do to him.

Once they were out of sight, Castiel wriggled in his chains, trying to get them loose, but they were bound too tight and the struggling just made them dig into his wings painfully, bending the pin feathers. He didn't want to risk damaging his wings before Crowley got the chance to do so so he gave up with a huff.

He did, however manage to orient himself as to his location. And he realized with dismay that he was in Crowley's 'secret hideout'. The old asylum he had taken over. He had been taken all the way to Massachusetts, when he had left the Winchesters in South Dakota. Not that he wanted Sam and Dean anywhere near Crowley and his demons, but he also realized how difficult escape would be alone. Crowley was smart. And he had a serious issue with Castiel after their business deal had gone south. Knowing the enterprising demon, he had probably been planning this ever since he had found out about Castiel's betrayal. He would have contingencies for his contingencies. Castiel would most certainly need help getting out of this.

The other thing he didn't even want to admit to himself though, was that he was honestly terrified of being tortured again. What he had gone through in Hell at the hands of Samyaza…it still haunted his nightmares on bad nights. After the Winchesters had pulled him through his recovery, he had finally come to realize that torture was not penance, and though it had taken a while, Sam and Dean had somehow convinced him that he hadn't deserved what had happened to him down in Hell, not even for breaking Sam's wall, or for betraying their trust. He was afraid what being tortured again would do to him. Would he be right back in Hell with Samyaza? Would he feel like he deserved it again? It was foolish to think about really, what was going to happen was going to happen either way now, and there would most certainly be torture. He just hoped he could endure.

Because truthfully, his biggest fear was bringing himself back to the Winchesters a completely broken mess again. They didn't need to go through that either.

He stewed in his cell for what seemed like hours, his stomach in knots, contemplating his future while he tried to work the chains off with no better luck than before.

That was when he caught the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor. Castiel struggled onto one elbow, trying to look as defiant as possible.

A figure in an immaculate suit of all black came into view, standing in front of the cell. One eyebrow raised, the only indication that Crowley was at all pleased with what he was seeing.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't my old business partner."

"Crowley," Castiel growled it like a curse. That was pretty much the way he was feeling about the demon right now.

"So nice of you to drop by," Crowley said. "Fancy a chat?"

* * *

 _Dean drove the Impala_ into the parking garage, tires screeching around the corners, as he and Sam both looked around for any sign of Cas, or demons.

"Dean, there!" Sam cried and Dean slammed his foot into the brake.

They hurried out of the car and went over to look at the dead body lying near the elevator.

Dean nudged it over with his foot, seeing burned out eyes and a familiar looking stab wound in its chest.

"Demon," he said. "Cas got at least one."

"Yeah, but where is he?" Sam asked, looking around, phone already in his hand as he dialed the angel's number.

Dean felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he heard the ringing and glanced over in the direction it was coming from, seeing the phone light up behind a tire of a parked car.

"Dammit," he groaned, as he went to grab the phone. His heart was in his throat. Not only was Cas taken by demons, but they didn't have a way to track him. He could be on the other side of town, or the other side of the world by now.

Sam ran a hand over his face. "I knew we shouldn't have let him go off alone like that."

"You think we could have stopped him?" Dean asked, looking around the scene for any other clues he might be able to find. "At least he might have saved that woman. We can track her down and see if she's alright. Maybe she knows something."

There was also not any copious amounts of blood at the scene so Cas hadn't been dealt a fatal blow.

But that was little comfort because Dean knew exactly where Cas was headed. Probably for a meet and greet with Crowley.

"We gotta find him, man," Dean said. "If Crowley has him…"

"I know," Sam said grimly. "But, no matter what, you know Cas would want us to make sure the woman was safe first."

Dean clenched his jaw, but nodded. "You're right. Let's do that then. Quicker we clean up here, quicker we can get to Cas."

They got back in the car where Sam tracked down the woman's address from her driver's license and they swiftly drove to a small house in a suburban area.

It was dark by the time they pulled up, and there didn't seem to be any lights on in the house, but her car was parked a little ways' down so it seemed like she was home.

Dean glanced at Sam and they got out of the car, armed with angel blades, holy water and the demon knife. Dean nodded to Sam to keep a lookout as he went forward, blade held at the ready as he knocked on the door.

"Miss Cobern?" he called.

There was no answer. He knocked a few more times and then simply pulled out his lockpick set. Within seconds he was through he door, Sam behind him.

The house was dark, and Dean wondered if she hadn't already been taken, or gotten the hell out of dodge.

Then all of a sudden movement flashed to his right and he spun around, ducking just in time to keep from being brained by a baseball bat. It still took him in the shoulder though and he grunted, instinctively wrenching it away from his assailant.

He was about to attack, when Sam switched the lights on. "Dean!" he called.

Dean finally saw that his attacker was a cowering blond woman, shaking so badly, she could barely stand.

"Please, don't hurt me! I don't know anything!" she cried.

"Hey, hey," Dean said calmly, holding his hands out before fumbling in his pocket for his FBI creds. "It's okay, we're from the FBI. I'm Dean, that's Sam."

"FBI?" she asked, looking a little steadier. "Is this about the murders?"

Dean glanced at Sam, and the younger man stepped forward. "Yes, it is, we think you might be a possible target." She whimpered in horror, but Dean pulled his phone out, flipping through pictures.

"Miss Cobern, have you seen this man?" He asked, showing her a picture of Cas.

Her eyes widened. "Yes, he stopped me when I was out on a delivery. He—he stabbed that man in the parking garage. Oh God, he's not the killer is he?"

"No," Dean said hurriedly. "He's our partner. And he's missing."

"He's an agent?" she asked incredulously. "He was saying weird stuff. Like, I should hide and put salt around the doors? What does that even mean?"

Sam quickly stepped forward and took her elbow gently. "Miss Cobern, why don't you sit down. We have a couple questions."

Sam got her settled while Dean went to the kitchen to make her a cup of tea. When Dean came back, Sam had gotten her settled on the couch and Dean handed her the cup of tea, which she took gratefully.

"Now, Miss Cobern, we understand these questions might sound a bit odd," Sam began, leaning forward, somehow still effecting that earnest caring look even though Dean knew he was just as worried about Cas as he was. "But did anything…strange happen to you within the last couple years?"

"Strange like…?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

"Were you attacked? Had time you couldn't account for?" Dean asked her.

A look crossed her face and she gripped the mug tighter between her hands.

"Miss?" Sam coaxed. "Whatever you have to say it might really help us in our investigation."

"Well," she said hesitantly. "A few years ago now, there was this…well it was almost a month I have no recollection of. I just remember waking up in a hospital and they said I had been in a coma, but the weird thing was that I had only been there for a few days, and a whole month had passed that I couldn't account for."

Sam shared a look with Dean and the older hunter nodded. Yeah, that sounded like possession to him. The girl was lucky she was even still alive.

"But I don't see how that could help your investigation," she said, shaking her head.

"We're not really at liberty to say," Dean said quickly. "You don't remember any of the men who attacked you tonight, do you? Know any of them?"

She shook her head. "No, definitely not. Why am I being targeted? Is it because of what happened before?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Sam told her.

That was when a thump was heard in the back of the house and all three of them spun around.

"What was that?" the girl asked.

"Just stay here," Dean told her firmly, standing up and pulling his angel blade out of his coat. "Sam." He nodded for his brother to go the other way, but the attack was already starting.

Two men sprung from the shadows toward Sam and Dean as another two headed toward the girl.

"Dean!" Sam cried as he fended off his assailant, scoring a hit to the demon's shoulder before kicking him away. The demon snarled, and flicked a hand at Sam, sending the younger hunter flying backwards to crash into the coffee table.

Dean swiftly threw his blade at the demon as it lunged for Sam and hit it center mass. It sparked and slumped to the ground.

"Dean, watch your back!" Sam cried.

Dean spun back toward the other demon, only to have it take him by the front of the coat and throw him backwards. Dean landed in a heap, breath knocked from him as he heard the girl screaming someone further in the house.

"Sam, get the girl!" Dean grunted, snagging the angel blade out of the dead demon as Sam was already running from the room.

The demon stalking after Dean smirked. "Figured you boys would show up at some point. We have your angel."

Dean growled as he got back on his feet and lunged at the demon, punching it in the face with the pommel of his blade. The demon was startled long enough for Dean to stab it through the throat. He was off down the hall toward the sounds of struggle before the body hit the ground.

"Sam!" he cried.

When he found his brother, Sam was being strangled by a female demon, pressing him against the wall and laughing while her companion was dragging the girl toward the back door.

"You'll get your turn, Sammy, don't worry," the demon was leering. "Crowley has a new toy of his own, so I'm sure he won't mind us taking first turn with you and your brother."

"Oh eat me," Dean snarled as he shoved his blade into her back.

The demon screamed and collapsed, releasing Sam who slumped down the wall, Dean barely catching him.

"You good?" Dean asked.

Sam only nodded, rubbing his throat, but he snatched his dropped blade from the ground and they both surged toward the room.

The demon was shoving the girl into a chair and readying rope to tie her to it when they burst in. Dean instantly surged forward, tackling the demon away from the girl and straddled him on the ground, raising his blade for the final blow.

"Dean, wait!" Sam cried, surging forward. "He can tell us where they took Cas!"

Dean looked down at the demon and nodded, grabbing his sigiled handcuffs from his coat. "That's right. Look like it's your lucky day pal," Dean quipped as he shoved the demon onto his stomach and slapped the cuffs on him. "I hope you're feeling chatty, because I'm not in the mood to beat around the bush tonight."

* * *

 _Crowley had Castiel taken_ to a room at the end of the cellblock, and as soon as Castiel saw it he knew what it was.

Crowley's torture chamber.

He tried to keep the weakness from his knees, but he couldn't walk anyway, so what was the point? The demons dropped him unceremoniously onto the ground and Castiel cringed as he came face to face with the stains there.

"Unchain him," Crowley ordered. "He's not strong enough to fight me in his current state." He seemed pleased, as he looked Castiel over. "Falling is bad for angels. I bet you can't even smite demons anymore, can you, darling?"

"Bite me," Castiel growled out, channeling Dean.

"Hm," Crowley made the sound, unimpressed. "Well, not if you're going to ask for it." He watched as the demons unwound the chains from Castiel's body, and pulled him upright. He tried to put his wings back on the ethereal plane, but he found them stuck. Crowley smirked.

"Oh, yes, that's not going to work. I've taken precautions." He strode forward, looking Castiel up and down, and the angel pulled his wings closer to his body. "I have to admit, you look a lot less intimidating without the trench coat, but the wings are a nice addition. I'm surprised they look as good as they do. I heard you were in Hell. Sorry I didn't stop by, send a care basket, but I make it a point not to go to the further reaches. They're barbarians down there." He walked over to a metal rack and began to fiddle with it, pulling it apart and producing two long extensions on either side. Castiel swallowed hard, having a feeling he knew what those were for.

To distract himself from the inevitable, Castiel started talking. "Why are you sending demons to torture previously possessed humans?" He asked.

Crowley cocked an eyebrow at him. "I don't have to answer to you."

"It just seems pointless. What could they possibly know?"

Crowley jerked his head to his demons and they grabbed Castiel shoving him over to the rack. He flinched as they took out knives, but they just cut off his coat, leaving him in only his black jeans and a grey t-shirt.

"I didn't invite you here to talk, I invited you here to scream for me," Crowley said firmly.

"What do you want?" Castiel demanded, struggling to resist them lifting him bodily onto the rack for as long as possible.

"Nothing, only the satisfaction of carving you apart for how you broke our business deal!" Crowley cried, getting louder with each word.

The demons heaved and Castiel's back slammed against the cold metal of the rack. He fought as his wrists and ankles were strapped down, then more bands across his hips and chest. And finally, they took hold of his wings and spread first one and then the other out on the extensions strapping them down too. Castiel's breath was coming in short bursts now, panic settling in.

Crowley was putting on an apron and rolling up his sleeves, as he came over to the rack and reached down to fist a hand in Castiel's hair, pulling his head back to look at him.

"Now, where do we start?"

* * *

 _The holy water sizzled_ as Dean threw it in the demon's face. It screamed and flinched back, jerking in the chair they had tied it into. They'd driven back to the motel, which was deserted enough that they hoped they wouldn't raise any questions if the sounds of screaming were heard.

"Tell us where you took Cas!" Dean demanded, holding the demon knife up threateningly as he loomed over the captive.

The demon just laughed, his eyes flicking black. "Aw, lost your feathered boyfriend? I'm sure Crowley's taking real good care of him."

Dean slashed the blade down the side of the demon's face and pressed it under his throat. "You better start giving me the answers I want or it's gonna get real nasty in here."

"I'm shaking," the demon replied blandly with a mocking shudder and grunted as Dean sliced into him again.

"You will be if Crowley finds out you're here," Sam stepped in, holding an angel blade and a flask of holy water ready. "You tell us what we want to know, we'll give you a quick death. You don't and we send your ass back to hell for Crowley to deal with."

"Yeah, you think your boss is gonna let you live if he finds out you were captured? It won't matter if you give anything up or not, Crowley will treat you the same."

The demon snorted. "I think you overestimate your pull here."

"Do I?" Dean demanded flatly, leaning in close to the demon, the blade close to his eye. "You know what I did in Hell? I tortured Alastair himself up here, you think I can't make you hurt?"

"I think you're not nearly as creative as Crowley," the demon smirked. "So I'll take my chances."

Dean slammed the blade into his thigh and left it there as the demon screamed. "Tell me where Crowley took Cas!" he said, twisting the blade.

"Up yours!" the demon growled.

Dean yanked the blade out and went over to his duffle bag. He took out a cloth holder and pulled out a syringe, slowly checking it over before he began to draw holy water into it, making sure the demon could see him. Sam stepped in then.

"Look, just tell us, you're gonna die either way, and you know it. You already failed your mission, so what do you really think is waiting for you back in Hell?"

The demon growled. "Like you know anything about that."

"Actually, speaking of," Dean said, striding over slowly, pressing the plunger on the syringe until it spurted a stream of holy water. "Why the hell are you going after old meat suits?"

The demon smirked. "Again, that's none of your business."

"Sure," Dean said. "Only you're not gonna talk about anything else, so you may as well talk about something. Because…" He yanked the demon's head to one side and stabbed the syringe into his neck, pressing the plunger down. "It's either that or scream."

The demon howled as the holy water directly entered his veins. He twisted in the chair, obviously in utter agony. Dean tried not to enjoy it as much as he did. He hoped the bastard was hurting. If Cas was with Crowley, then there was no doubt he was getting worse treatment than this. The thought turned his stomach and made him even more urgent.

He reached forward and grabbed the demon's chin, shaking him so he would focus. "You like that? I'll give you another dose, if you don't start talking, sweetheart."

The demon's head lolled, as his eyes flicked back to normal again. "Crowley's looking for Lucifer's crypts," he wheezed. "The meatsuits were used by demons who visited them back during the apocalypse. We were trying to see if there were any memories stored in their brains, but humans are so stupid. They didn't remember anything, and boy, we tried."

Dean hit him across the face. "Fascinating. See? Talking is good. Now tell me where Cas is."

The demon snorted. "Bite me."

Dean grit his teeth, furious, but trying not to let his anger show. He turned back to the table, drawing another syringe. The demon eyed him nervously as he came toward him and then Dean stuck the syringe into his neck again, and let him have it.

The demon screamed and jerked in his ropes.

"Wanna talk now?" Dean demanded.

The demon just hissed at him.

Dean folded his arms over his chest and nodded to Sam. "Sam, get me another dose."

The demon watched Sam turn aside to draw another syringe of holy water and then finally cried out. "Okay! Okay! Fine, I'll talk!"

"Go on." Dean made an impatient motion.

"You'll give me a quick death?" the demon asked then, glancing between the two of them.

Sam and Dean looked at each other shrugged. "Sure, just talk."

"They took him to Crowley's place, it's an asylum up in Massachusetts." He then gave the coordinates. Sam was already looking them up on a map app and handed it to Dean. His stomach sank. That was hours of driving. More hours that Cas would be left to the mercy (or lack thereof) of Crowley.

"Sam," Dean said, nodding to the demon. "I'll pack the car."

Sam turned back to the demon, and began an exorcism.

"No!" the demon yelled. "You promised!"

"I didn't promise crap, and you barely gave us what we needed," Dean snapped as Sam continued the exorcism and finally the demon got sent back to Hell.

Dean grabbed his duffle, throwing the last of his stuff in it, and slung it over his shoulder. "Let's go get Cas out of there."

Sam nodded in agreement, grabbed his own bag, and followed Dean out to the Impala.

* * *

 _Castiel had given up trying_ to bite back the screams. It wasn't like Crowley was going to stop torturing him either way.

His chest heaved with shuddering breaths, as Crowley finally paused, standing back with the angel blade held dripping crimson, head cocked thoughtfully to one side. There were red splatters on his apron as well, and Castiel had lost count of the bloody tears that slashed through his own clothes, blood making the fabric stick to his skin as he twisted in agony against the rack.

"Hm," Crowley murmured to himself. "Are we getting bored, Cas. Perhaps a change up?" His gaze fell onto Castiel's wings, which up to that point, the demon hadn't touched, most likely to create anticipation, and the angel felt panic rising in his chest. He cringed as Crowley reached out to stroke the feathers, tugging on them.

"Don't," Castiel growled, his wings jerking instinctively, but obviously they were strapped down, so they could do little more than bristle. He gritted his teeth at his helpless position.

"Curious," Crowley stated as he set the angel blade aside. "I wonder what you were doing with your wings out at all? Angels are typically more secretive of their most precious parts." He gripped a hand around the arm of Castiel's wing, and dug his fingers in, fingering one of the scars where the feathers still settled a little poorly from where Samyaza had driven rings through his flesh to string his wings up in Hell. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and looked away. He tried to ground himself, tried to remind himself that he wasn't back there. That he didn't have the Grigori whispering lies into his ears and coxing him to give in to his self-loathing.

"I'll admit," Crowley continued. "Your wings look quite a lot better than expected. After rescuing two Winchesters from Hell and then spending time there yourself. I'm guessing they weren't always like that."

Castiel turned to glower at him, hoping his gaze wasn't just a weakly veiled threat. Crowley clenched a fist and yanked, ripping a handful of feathers out. Castiel shouted in pain, but was thankful it was just his coverts, not any of his flight feathers. It was painful, but not crippling.

Crowley let the feathers fall to the floor, and rubbed his hands together briskly as he strode back over to the table of torture implements, perusing the selection there.

"I know that Hellfire is not good for angels, I'm sure your wings remember the way it felt to have the flames of Hades licking at your feathers." Castiel did, he recalled vividly the first desperate escape he had made with Dean, and then later, the even more desperate escape he had made with Sam—that time he almost hadn't made it at all. The deeper you went into Hell the more unlikely it was you would come back.

Crowley finally picked up a clay jug and popped the cork. Castiel eyed it worriedly, shifting uncomfortably on the rack.

"But, as much as Hellfire stings, there's something that hurts worse," Crowley said, and tipped the jug slightly so that a dribble of liquid slid out to land on Castiel's first primary feather at the tip of his wing. He flinched and Crowley smirked. "Isn't it ironic that holy fire burns angels just as much as the rest of us?"

"No," Castiel pleaded, jerking at his bonds as Crowley reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter, flicking the top open. "No, please, don't do this."

"Should have thought of that before you reneged on our deal, darling," Crowley said with a shrug, but didn't bother to hide the glee in his eyes as he flicked his thumb over the lighter and the flame came to life. He slowly moved it toward the tip of Castiel's feather and the angel could only watch it horror as the plumage started to smoke, then sizzle and then finally lit with a conflagration of pure agony.

He screamed, feeling the fire attack not only his feather, but his grace—what little of it he had left. This was agony he had not felt since he was a prisoner of Samyaza and in his mind he was right back there, the fallen angel's scarred, and tattooed face leaned into his.

 _"You deserve this, Castiel. You know you do. Embrace the pain. It will cleanse you of your sins. Help you repent."_

He didn't know how long it was before the pain finally started to die down, but every nerve in his wing felt frayed, his grace twinging at the assault. His face was wet, sweat beading on his forehead and pooling in the hollow of his throat; tears leaking from his eyes to slip down into his hairline.

Crowley stood by with a pleased expression. "Well, definitely effective."

"Please, no more," Castiel pleaded, his voice weak to even his own ears.

"Oh, darling, we're just getting started," Crowley said and without warning he dumped the jug over first one of Castiel's wings and then the other. The oil soaked into the feathers, clumping his plumage and making his wings feel heavy. Castiel was speechless in horror at the idea of what was to come.

"We'll make this interesting," Crowley said, almost reassuringly as he fiddled with something above him, and Castiel realized it was a weight system, attached to a pulley. He watched as Crowley put a bowl into it and lit the contents of the bowl on fire. Then he stepped back and snapped his fingers and the pulley started to tick.

"There, I don't know when it will fall, it could be at any time," Crowley said, pulling a chair around, and sitting in it, plucking a cup of tea off of a tray on one side of the room. "I must say, I'll enjoy this quite a bit. Best entertainment I've had in a long time."

Castiel's breath started coming in short bursts of panic. Crowley was going to burn his wings off. The wings he had just learned to use again. The feathers that had just grown in better than they had in years.

A flash of an idea went through his head, Samyaza's voice coming to him again. Accusing him of his pride; that must be why his wings were being taken away from him now, after all. But he squeezed his eyes shut and forced it away. Instead remembering how Sam and Dean had cared for him during his recovery. When he had molted out of season and gotten sick, and they spent countless hours helping him wash his wings with warm water, massaging the old feathers out and the new feathers in; healing not only his body but his mind until he had returned to better health than he had been in for years, despite the fact that most of his grace was gone, and he was mostly human.

His breaths shuddered in his chest, but there was a calm inside of him too. He glanced up at the contraption holding fire over his wing that could fall at any moment and maim him for good, but suddenly didn't feel as scared as he had been. He'd thought he was done in Hell too—had wanted to be done. But Sam and Dean had come to get him, to pull him from a perdition of his own making. They would come for him this time too.

He had faith.

* * *

 _The Impala screeched_ to a halt outside of the old asylum. It was broken down, covered in graffiti, and looked completely deserted, but Dean could tell there was warding on the windows that was not just some random tag job.

"This is it," he said, getting out of the car, and collecting his weapons.

Sam did the same, pulling his demon knife from his coat and gripping it tight.

"Let's go save Cas," he said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Let's see if we can get Cas out of there! Only one chapter after this one!**

Chapter Three

Castiel panted as he lay on the rack, his body screaming from adrenaline and pain. Any second the bowl holding the hot coals over his wing could tip and completely cripple him for life. It had already started to tip, the contraption clicking several steps lower, nearly giving Castiel a heart attack each time. His nerves were frayed from the anticipation, obviously Crowley's plan.

The King of Hell was sitting on the other side of the room with a teacup in hand, watching with a smug and overall pleased expression on his face. He would occasionally get up and poke at the contraption as if to see why it was taking so long, during which Castiel would squeeze his eyes shut. He wasn't sure if it would be better to know, to see it coming, or otherwise.

He just wanted it to be over.

The bowl tipped another fraction, teetering in it's precarious holder. Castiel couldn't help the frustrated whimper that escaped his throat. Crowley seemed to find it amusing.

"Getting impatient, darling? No one appreciates foreplay anymore."

"Why can't you just get it over with?" Castiel growled, again struggling pointlessly to free himself.

Crowley sighed. "What would be the fun of that? If I wanted you dead—and true, that is the ultimate goal here—I would have killed you straight off. But the pleasure comes from watching you suffer. Making you pay for what you did. You may bear the scars from Hell, but I didn't get to inflict them, so now it is my turn."

Castiel slumped back, fists clenching, then the bowl tipped again, sending a brand new jolt of panic through him. Tears pricked against his eyes, but he blinked them away. He would not let Crowley see him cry again.

It was then that Castiel heard something as if from far away. Footsteps ran down the hallway outside and the door was swung open.

Crowley glowered at the demon who came in without invitation. "Doesn't anyone know how to knock?"

"My lord, we're experiencing a…um…some problems," the demon stuttered.

Crowley looked at him blandly. "What sort of problems?"

"Um, er, there's been a breach, my lord," the demon admitted.

"Then deal with it," Crowley enunciated slowly as if the demon were stupid. "I asked not to be disturbed. Are you fools ever going to learn—"

He trailed off looking down the hall as the sounds grew louder and Castiel watched as a demon flew into sight and slumped dead on the ground.

Right before two more figures appeared.

New hope flooded Castiel then, and more tears, this time of relief. "Dean!" he cried, letting the rescuers know he was there. "Sam!"

The two brothers—his brothers—looked up and charged the door. The demon who had come to warn Crowley actually screamed as he was taken down. Crowley himself seemed to see the hopelessness of the situation, turning to Castiel with a sneer. "This isn't the last you'll see of me, pigeon." Then he disappeared.

Dean took the demon down with a single stab to the chest then was right on Sam's heels as the younger Winchester rushed into the room, looking around for more foes.

"Cas!" Dean cried, eyes widening as he saw Castiel's helpless position, and took in the contraption hanging over him.

"Dean, Sam, get me out," Castiel pleaded.

At just that moment, the contraption clicked again and Castiel watched in breathless horror as the bowl tipped and didn't stop. He thought his heart might have stopped beating as he watched the bowl with the glowing red coals fall down toward him.

And then Sam was there, arms outstretched, as he practically threw himself over Castiel's wing and caught the bowl.

Sam cried out and dropped the hot bowl on the floor, harmlessly, scattering the coals across the tiles.

Castiel slumped against the rack, eyes shut and just breathing. Tears slid down his face in gratitude and relief.

Hands suddenly cupped his face. "Cas, hey, look at me? You all right?"

He couldn't speak, his throat too tight, so he nodded, his chest spasming with a bit-back sob, opening his eyes a slit to see Dean leaning over him with concern on his face.

"Okay, you're okay, I'm gonna get you out of here. Sammy?" Castiel glanced over to see the younger Winchester nursing his hands, which had obviously been burned when he touched the bowl.

"Yeah, I'm good," Sam said, flashing a smile.

Dean flattened his lips. "Stay with him, I'm gonna look for a key."

Sam moved over to Castiel and started to clumsily undo the straps that held his wings down since those didn't need a key.

"Sam, your hands," Castiel said softly as he watched the young man work.

"Not too bad," Sam shrugged. "Not as bad as it could have been."

Castiel shuddered. No. It could have been worse for both of them.

"What is this?" Sam asked as his fingers slid across the straps, seeming to find it hard to get purchase as he carefully worked around the one closest to the feathers Crowley had burned earlier as a test.

"Holy oil," Castiel said simply.

"Oh god, Cas, I'm sorry," Sam said, horror obvious in his eyes.

"Don't be," Castiel told him. "You came just in time."

Sam's hand settled onto the shoulder of Castiel's wing and gave a reassuring squeeze as he smiled.

"Got it," Dean said, coming over with a key as he started to unlock the shackles around Castiel's wrists and ankles then waved Sam aside and finished the rest of the straps.

"All right, up you come, easy," Dean told him and he and Sam both grabbed an arm and eased Castiel up. His wounds protested, but he managed to get his feet under him and after that he could lean against his brothers for support.

"Let's get out of here," Dean said firmly and led the way, he and Sam still keeping Castiel upright.

Castiel glanced around as they exited Crowley's lair, seeing several more dead demons. Thankfully, it seemed that most of Crowley's demons were off doing errands so there weren't too many for the Winchesters to handle.

He was extremely glad to see the Impala when they got outside though, and sagged even more as they led him over to the car.

"How are the wings?" Dean asked him, glancing over Castiel's shoulder with a frown. "What the hell is all over them?"

"Holy oil," Castiel gritted out.

Dean's face tightened. "I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch. I'm going to soak _him_ in holy oil and light his ass."

"Can we do it later?" Castiel asked wearily.

Dean's face twitched but he went into action, opening the back door of the car and then went around to the trunk, pulling out an old blanket and several cloths, but Castiel shook his head.

"Don't waste your time with that. We can't just rub it off." His wings were heavy and the left one, which Crowley had burned earlier stung continuously. He slumped against Sam and the younger Winchester pushed him closer to the car.

"We'll figure it out when we get back to the motel room," Sam said and helped Castiel slide into the Impala. It was a tight fit with his wings, but he managed it. Dean handed him the blanket and Castiel tucked it around himself so that his wings wouldn't be visible to anyone who came across them. Luckily it was nighttime so it wasn't as likely anyone would see them.

Dean then climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine, gunning the Impala out of the lot.

Castiel leaned back, allowing himself to be comforted by the familiar sound of the Impala's engine, the presence of Sam and Dean. His body still hurt, and the horror of what could have happened—what almost had happened—was still leaving his nerves frayed, but he knew it was over now.

They didn't drive for long, only until they got into the nearest town and then Dean stopped at the first motel they came across. He went to get a room and then came back out park them in front of their room.

Sam and Dean got out first and Dean unlocked the door, looked around, and when they saw no one, he nodded. "Okay, let's go."

They helped Castiel inside and he slumped gingerly onto the foot of one of the beds, his oil soaked wings held awkwardly away from him and the bed.

Dean went back out and grabbed their bags and the first aid kit. Sam stood by Castiel seeming unsure of what to do.

Dean came back to him, and reached out for Sam's wrists. "How are your hands?" he asked with gruff worry, inspecting the reddened skin on Sam's palms.

Sam huffed a frustrated breath. "They hurt, but not too bad. Don't think I'll be able to help stitch though."

Dean nodded. "Go get a shower going for Cas then and I'll bandage those up." He turned back to Castiel. "We need to get your wings clean and we may as well wash the blood off while we're at it," Dean told the angel as he turned back to him, giving him a once over.

"Dean, it's oil, it's not going to come off in the shower," Sam protested.

"He's right," Cas said in defeat. "I don't know how we're going to get it out. We may have to scrape the majority of it out and wait for the rest to dissipate." His wings did naturally create oil like any bird to keep his feathers from getting dry and ragged, but this was so heavy and sticky and wasn't supposed to be there. He knew it would clot his wings and make flying difficult, but he didn't know what else to do.

"No way," Dean said. "We can't leave it on you; what would happen if you stood too close to a fire?"

Castiel felt his stomach twist at the thought and looked away. There was that too.

"I know how to fix it," Sam said suddenly. "You take care of Cas here, I'll run to the store down the street and grab a few things."

Dean glanced at him but nodded. "Okay, but let me wrap your hands first."

Sam suffered him to wrap his burns and then left the motel, leaving Dean alone to care for Castiel. The elder Winchester turned to him in a businesslike manner.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up as much as possible."

Castiel dutifully followed Dean into the bathroom where Sam had turned on the shower to a good temperature. Not too hot, and not too cold, Castiel found as he stuck his hand under it at Dean's urging.

"It's gonna be a tight fit," Dean said grimly, glancing between Castiel's wings and the shower. At least it was part tub, so Castiel could sit. His legs weren't exactly up to holding his weight for long periods right now.

"Dean, can you…?" he asked, tugging the bottom of his slashed and bloody t-shirt, knowing he wouldn't be able to get it off over his wings.

Dean swiftly opened the med kit and pulled some scissors out, snipping through the fabric to fully open the slits already in the back of the shirt. Castiel let the ruined fabric slid to the floor, and clumsily undid his jeans.

By the time he was in his boxers, Dean had set out the medical supplies and as he turned to give Castiel a hand into the shower his face darkened as he fully saw the damage Crowley had done. The wounds hurt, some of them were deeper than others and would probably need stitches, but Castiel was more grateful for what _didn't_ happen.

"Dammit, Cas, I'm sorry," Dean muttered as Castiel settled into the tub, his knees pulled up to his chest and his wings awkwardly angled to fit. He was sure it looked ridiculous, and he wished he had his personal shower back at Bobby's that Dean had put together for him to take showers during his molting.

But at the moment, he was just glad to be back with his family. Dean's steady presence was the only thing right now keeping the nightmares of Hell away.

"Don't be sorry," he said quietly, glancing up to meet Dean's eyes. "Just know that I am grateful you got there in time."

Dean didn't say anything, simply touched his shoulder almost carefully and then turned to get to work.

* * *

 _Dean grabbed several washcloths_ , handing one to Cas to start wiping the blood from his face and body while he took the angel's unoccupied hand and carefully dabbed the raw, bloody marks around his wrist from the manacles. Dean's teeth were clenched the whole time, hating that smarmy dick Crowley for chaining Cas up, torturing him like that. As if the angel hadn't already suffered enough.

Cas was already slumping against the wall of the shower, and Dean took up his cloth and continued cleaning his wounds. It was even harder to see the new wounds on top of the old scars from Hell that would never heal since Cas was fallen. The thought that he had only collected more made Dean want to punch a wall—or more preferably Crowley's face.

"Is this it? No internal injuries I should know about?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Cas shook his head. "No. Crowley enjoyed…taking his time. I don't even know how long he had me there with that contraption that would…" The angel shuddered under Dean's careful ministrations and Dean paused, leaning his forearms on the side of the tub as he watched the pink-tinged water flow down the drain.

"You don't have to talk about it," he said. "Just remember you're safe now."

Cas took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes," he said softly.

Dean heard the door to the room open and he felt a sudden moment of adrenaline rush through him before he heard Sam's voice calling out.

"Dean?"

"In here," Dean called back and stood as Sam came into the bathroom with a shopping bag.

"So, I hope this works," Sam said, pulling out a bottle of dish soap and a couple brushes. "This is what they use on birds and animals that get caught in oil spills, so I thought it would work for this too."

"Well, anything will be better than nothing right now," Dean said and grabbed a towel from the shelf above the toilet. "Okay, Cas, let's get you sitting outside the tub so you can rest your wings inside of it, that sound okay?"

Cas nodded and Dean helped him out to sit on a towel on the floor beside the tub, wings draped over the side so that the water from the shower rained on them. Dean reached over and plugged the tub up before looking at the setup with a sigh.

"This is going to turn into a wet t-shirt contest isn't it?" he said, half-jokingly.

Sam snorted with a small smile. "Getting wet will probably be unavoidable."

"Let's do this, then," Dean said and grabbed the bottle of dish soap and squeezed a liberal amount into the water gathered in the tub. He swished his hand around it in to make it foam and then he and Sam each took up a brush.

"Probably the best way is to work the soap into Cas' feathers first," Sam suggested, taking the bottle after pulling the bandages off his hands. "Then we can see how well it's taking the oil out."

"You sure your hands are good?" Dean asked.

"I'm fine," Sam said firmly.

Dean shrugged and stepped over to Cas. "Okay, let us know if we're doing anything that makes you uncomfortable."

"I just want it out of my feathers," Cas said with a weary sigh. "This whole situation is uncomfortable."

Dean shared a look with Sam and they set to work.

They first squeezed some of the dish soap directly onto Cas' wings and then, each brother taking a side, they worked it gently into his feathers with their fingers. This was a common practice for them after all the baths they had given Cas with baby shampoo during his molt. It had been the only thing that had given him relief from the itching. Now though, Dean could feel how sticky and logged down Cas' feathers were from the oil and he could imagine how uncomfortable it was. But the soap did seem to be working, and soon the water in the tub was getting sludgy from it.

"Ready for a deep clean?" Dean asked, taking up the brush.

Cas nodded and Dean and Sam started brushing through the feathers to collect all the excess oil. It sloughed off into the tub, and started to discolor the water. Cas flinched as Dean reached the tip of his wing where one of his primary flight feathers had been burned. Dean hadn't asked but figured it was probably Crowley giving his idea a test run. Dean clenched he jaw as he worked gently around the injured area. He saw that the quill was still there, just charred almost to the point where it met Castiel's skin, and he wondered if they would probably have to pull it.

But they would figure that out later. Right now, Sam's idea seemed to be working and they were nearly done.

Dean got rid of the filthy water in the tub and refilled it with more sudsy water that they poured over Castiel's wings with a cup to make sure they had gotten all the oil out. After that, they pulled the plug and used regular water to rinse his wings completely.

It was a long process, taking well over an hour, and Cas was cramped from sitting on the floor and both Winchesters' backs were cricked from the awkward positions, but by the time they had finished, Cas' wings were clean, and free of the oil.

"Okay, up you come," Dean told him, sitting him on the toilet as he and Sam gently toweled off his wings before taking the in-room blow dryer to them.

After his wings were as dry as they could get them, they helped Cas back out to the main room and sat him on one of the beds so they could finish tending his wounds.

Yes, some did need stitching, but once that was finished, they bandaged Cas up and got him dressed in warm dry clothes and handed him a cup of coffee Sam had brewed while Dean had tended his injuries.

"Did you want anything to eat?" the younger Winchester asked.

Cas shook his head, sitting against the headboard, wings wrapped around himself almost like a blanket. "Maybe later. I'm not very hungry right now."

"Can we get you anything else?" Dean asked him.

Cas shook his head again. "I just want to rest."

Dean was going to say something else, but decided against it. Rest probably was the best thing for Cas right now, though he was worried about the angel falling into a dark mood. He'd made so much progress lately after relearning to fly, that Dean was furious that he'd been captured and tortured _again_ , just when he was starting to really get back on his feet, the nightmares even rarer. Now they would probably come back in full force again due to this new trauma.

"Okay, you rest then. Need anything else?"

Cas shook his head and set his half drunk cup of coffee on the side table as he gingerly slid under the blankets and rolled onto his stomach to rest his wings on top of the blankets so they would finish drying completely. "No, I am fine."

Which was a lie, obviously, but Cas still closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep all the same. Dean watched him for a few seconds before he turned to Sam who had a worried expression on his face.

"You think he's gonna be okay?"

Dean nodded. "Eventually. I'm just tired of all these damn setbacks." He crossed the room to sit at the table with his own cup of coffee. Sam awkwardly picked up his cup with his injured hands, and Dean fell into big brother mode again.

"Here, let me take care of those properly," he said.

Sam sighed, but knew better than to argue. He knew that Dean needed something to fix. Dean was glad he allowed him to do it.

He grabbed the med kit again and found some burn cream in it, which he spread over Sam's palms and then covered them in soft gauze.

"There, don't play with them too much," he said gruffly.

Sam huffed then they both glanced toward Cas who had snuffled and shifted in his sleep. Dean noticed his hands clutched tightly in the pillow and swallowed hard.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep, Sammy. I'll keep an eye on him."

Sam watched Cas for a few more seconds then nodded, unable to stop a yawn from escaping. "Okay. But wake me if you need anything."

Sam climbed into the other bed and Dean stayed at the table. He turned the TV on low and flipped channels for a little while as he watched over his two brothers. He just really wished they could all catch a break. But knowing their lives, that didn't seem to be in the cards for them.

In the meantime, he would watch over them as much as he could.


	4. Chapter 4

**And here's the final chapter of this story! Thanks for everyone who read and reviewed! There will be more of this verse coming in the future.**

 **Until then, I'm hoping to get a one shot up next week, but it might take me a little bit to get another multi-chap story ready for posting.**

Chapter Four

It was after midnight when Dean was startled out of his dozing state by a whimper, and a thrashing sound. He sat up straight in his chair as the glow from the TV illuminated Cas' form on the bed, jerking around, making distressed noises.

"No," the angel whimpered. "No, please, I don't…I've paid my penance! Stop!" Dean was already on his feet as Cas let out a heart-rending cry. Sam was up now too, joining Dean at the angel's bedside.

"Cas, hey, buddy, wake up," Dean pleaded, reaching out to touch his shoulder, dodging the shuddering wing that nearly clocked him.

Sam flipped on the lamp and Dean fully saw Cas now, tangled in the sheets, tear tracks down his cheeks. He reached down to touch the back of Cas' neck, moving his hand down soothingly between his wings to carefully massage the tense muscles there. "Cas, you're safe. Wake up, it's just Sam and me here."

Eventually, the soothing ministrations seemed to have an effect because Cas opened his eyes blearily and darted his gaze between the brothers.

"Dean? Sam?" he whispered almost hesitantly.

Sam smiled and sat on the bed opposite, leaning over with his elbows against his knees. "We're here, Cas, you're safe."

Cas struggled up onto his elbow, but winced, and Dean reached out to grab his arm. "Easy. You're alright, you want to sit up?"

Cas nodded and Dean helped him against the headboard as Sam stood to get him a glass of water. Dean glanced down to see a small red patch on Cas' shirt and flattened his lips.

"You rip your stitches?" he asked.

Cas winced and looked down, peeling his shirt up to reveal blood seeping through one of the bandages on a particularly nasty wound on his side. "Yes."

"Let's take care of that then," Dean said simply and peeled off the bandage, cleaning the wound and putting another stitch in. Sam brought Cas the water and sat on the other bed again.

"You want to talk about it?" Sam asked him gently.

Cas sighed, focusing on the wall and pointedly not on Dean tending his wound. "What is there to talk about? Of course I dreamed of Samyaza again. It's been a while, but he is always there. He will always be there."

Dean tied off the stitch and taped a fresh pad of gauze over the wound before tugging Cas' shirt down. "I still dream of Hell, of Alastair. That kind of trauma, you don't just get over it, Cas, and it's only to be expected after what happened."

"I just…" Cas looked away a second before he sighed and continued. "I just wonder sometimes if I will ever be whole again."

"Cas, you're not broken," Sam said softly. "Trust me, I felt the same way after I got my soul back, I'm sure Dean felt the same way after he got back from Hell." Dean nodded in agreement. "But the fact is, even if we feel that way, we're not broken as long as we're together. We may need help to hold ourselves together sometimes, but we don't have to do it alone. That's why we have each other to lean on. That's what family's for."

"Damn right," Dean agreed whole-heartedly, sitting at the foot of Cas' bed. "Cas, you know it gets better. You've seen it. Crowley cut you up a little, but we'll gank his ass eventually. In a few days, you'll be able to fly again. You're not crippled, Cas. You weren't before, and you aren't now. You're a freaking warrior and Sam and I have never thought differently. You just have to realize that not all battles are fought with knives and guns."

Cas glanced down at his hands before he looked between Sam and Dean. "Yes, I know. I'm just…tired. I'm tired of feeling this way."

"I know," Dean said quietly, understanding completely how Cas felt. He had been there—on more than one occasion. But he had lived through it enough times to know that it did get better. As long as you trusted in your family to help pull you through.

"Come on, you haven't eaten, how about some soup?" Dean asked, standing up and already heading to the kitchenette.

"Okay," Cas said.

Once he had eaten, Dean helped him get comfortable again to sleep the few more hours they had before dawn. They could start off back to Bobby's now, but Dean knew the trip would be uncomfortable for Cas, and wanted to give him as much of a head start on healing as he could.

"How's your wing?" Sam asked, motioning to the one with the burned feather.

"It's…uncomfortable," Cas admitted. "My grace was damaged as well. I think the feather will probably have to come out."

Dean nodded, having feared that. "You wanna get it over with?"

Cas gave a distasteful look but nodded. "No, but it needs to be done."

Dean went to grab the med kit again, pulling out a pair of forceps to give him a better grip. This was definitely not the first time he'd had to pull one of Cas' feathers, but knowing from past experiences, Cas would feel less pain once the broken shaft was out.

"Sam," Dean nodded to his brother who was already waiting. He nodded reluctantly and bent to hold down Cas' wing so he wouldn't move.

"Ready?" Dean asked.

Cas grunted into a pillow and Dean took that as a yes. He placed the forceps around the shaft of the broken feather and yanked it swiftly and efficiently out.

Cas let out of sharp yell that was muffled by the pillow and his wing jerked involuntarily in Sam's grip. Dean set the busted feather on the side table and quickly grabbed some gauze and peroxide to clean the wing and stop the bleeding, making sure it wouldn't get infected.

Cas panted through it and when Dean had finished, he simply folded his wings across his back and lay with his eyes closed. He looked drawn and Dean felt horrible for having to add to his pain, but also knew that the feather could have gotten infected if left in for too long, and that would have just been worse.

He tucked the blanket around Cas and cleaned up the first aid stuff. He tucked the ruined feather into the box too, not wanting to leave it in the motel in case any demons happened by.

He let Cas sleep for a few more hours as he and Sam checked into the news reports to see if any more demon activity had come up. Thankfully, though, it seemed to have stalled—for now at least. But if they could have a couple weeks for Cas to recover that was something to be thankful for.

As dawn started to show, Dean roused Cas and they packed up the Impala. Cas grudgingly put his wings onto the ethereal plane with a little wince and Dean hated that he had to do this now but it was a long drive and they would just be cramped in the backseat.

"Don't worry, you'll be able to relax back at Bobby's. We'll drive straight through if we can make it," Dean assured him.

Cas nodded and they went out to the Impala as Dean checked out, then they were on their way back to Sioux Falls.

* * *

 _Castiel slept most of the way_ back to Bobby's house, lying in the backseat. It wasn't a comfortable journey. He hated having to keep his wings on the ethereal plane for long periods of time anymore but when they were injured it seemed to make them hurt worse. However, as he rested, his grace worked on repairing itself and started healing his wounds if not sluggishly.

Unfortunately, he still jolted awake on occasion from nightmares. Seeing Samyaza holding a torch, ready to light his wings on fire, his feathers dripping with oil. Sometimes Crowley was there too. Sometimes Zachariah joined them. It seemed that whenever he closed his eyes that was all he could see.

Once he woke to see that Dean had pulled over to the side of the road, and he and Sam were hanging over the backseat, attempting to wake him, and pull him from his nightmare.

After that, he stayed awake as much as possible, asking Dean to stop to get him a coffee. Dean gave him a pinched look but obliged.

But they did get back to Bobby's eventually, and the older hunter had a warm stew ready for them, his gruff expression not doing much to hide the fact that he was relieved to see them back alive and mostly well.

Castiel, who hadn't eaten much on their trip back, found his appetite return finally as he ate the stew. The warmth that settled into his belly eased some of the tension and anxiety in him. Though maybe being home had some effect on that too.

After dinner Dean checked his wounds and applied new bandages, Cas finally pulled his wings back from the ethereal plane so he could check on the spot where he'd had to pull the feather. It still hurt, but not any more than it should.

"It's still looking okay," Dean assured him, one hand absently running through his feathers around the spot, trying to smooth out the ones that were still misplaced from vigorous washing they'd had to give him. He'd have to groom those out, probably with the Winchesters' help, but he was too tired right now.

Dean's thoughtful grunt caused him to look over his shoulder. "Cas, your feathers look a little…dry?"

Castiel pulled one of his wings around for his own inspection, running his fingers through them. The barbs held for the most part, but some were jagged, and his feathers did have an overall dry feeling and were looking a little worn. Now that he had them on the corporeal plane, he could tell they itched just slightly too.

"It's likely because the soap washed all the good oil out as well," he said. "At least we know it worked. I will have to do an extensive grooming."

"Well, why don't you get some rest and we'll get on that tomorrow," Dean suggested. "You look exhausted, man."

Castiel hung his head, looking at his hands, suddenly self-conscious. "I don't…I don't want to sleep."

Dean pressed his lips together in a thin, knowing line. "I know. Look, if you can't sleep, then stay up and read or something. Just promise me." He grabbed Castiel's shoulder and squeezed until the angel looked up and met his eyes. "Promise me that you're not going to run yourself into the ground."

Castiel nodded firmly. That was certainly not his intention. He didn't _want_ to get there again. He just needed a few days to readjust to remind himself that he was home and safe. "I promise. Don't worry, I know better than to not take care of myself. I don't want to do that again."

Dean quirked a small smile. "Atta boy." He stood and patted Cas on the knee. "Let me or Sam know if you need anything."

Castiel nodded and watched Dean leave, not wanting to admit how being alone made his stomach twist just a little. But he would be fine if he wasn't sleeping, so he grabbed a book from his side table, one of the fantasies Sam had recommended him, and lost himself for a few hours in long drives across America and old forgotten gods.

Eventually, though, his exhaustion won out and he slipped off into sleep.

Of course it wasn't long before the nightmares found him, and this one was particularly bad. In his dream, he staggered across Bobby's yard, just trying to get toward his door. He could feel agony emitting from his wings and in his periphery he could see them, stretching skeletal and horrifying out to either side. Ash from burned feathers fell to the ground, leaving a trail in his wake, and it was everything he could do to keep moving.

When he finally reached the door, he collapsed, unable to go on. Thankfully he heard footsteps and soon the door opened.

"Help," he pleaded, reaching a hand to Sam and Dean who were standing there, staring down at him.

"Why? You're obviously beyond help," Dean said, staring down at him coldly. "Look at you. I've never seen anything more pitiful."

"You're no use to us anymore like that," Sam added dismissively.

"Please, we're family," Castiel whispered.

Sam and Dean suddenly morphed into Samyaza and Zachariah, staring down at his with pure disgust.

"This is what happens when you choose humans over your true family, Castiel," Zachariah said smugly.

"I told you they would leave you, didn't I?" Samyaza asked. "You knew it would happen eventually."

"No," Castiel cried, struggling to his feet again, trying to hide his ruined wings, but they crumbled into dust and he fell to his knees, exactly what they said he was. Useless.

 _Castiel woke himself with a start_ , whimpering at the imagined agony, both mental and physical. He panted, reorienting himself. The light was still on, but his book had fallen to the floor, and he had turned to lay on his injured wing, which caused some of the pain from the dream to follow him into waking.

One thing that didn't follow him though, was his fear that Sam and Dean would actually treat him that way. Perhaps once, he'd believed it to be possible, but after witnessing their selfless care during his convalescence, he knew that was truly impossible.

However, his wings really were bothering him, feeling a little itchy and uncomfortable. He needed to set them straight again. He looked at his clock and saw it was almost six in the morning. Sam and Dean might not get up so early since they hadn't slept much on the trip back and he didn't want to wake them. He would have to make do for himself for now.

He got up to grab a long backscratcher from his dresser. He'd found a while back that it actually helped him to perform general grooming on a daily basis without having to ask Sam and Dean for help. He'd always been able to get to the feathers near the tips of his wings, but the ones closer to his back were impossible for him to reach by himself. And since he was using his wings a lot lately, he had to groom them every day to keep them in good condition.

He started working on his uninjured wing first, attempting to smooth the feathers back into place, but something wasn't right, and he soon realized that it was because he wasn't getting any of the oils his wings naturally produced.

Frowning, he reached back to touch the spot on his right wing where his oil gland was, expecting to feel a little oil on his fingers, like touching the side of your nose, but nothing happened, and the spot actually hurt to the touch.

Castiel sighed in exasperation. The holy oil must have clogged his glands, which just made everything even more difficult than it already was.

Castiel slumped back onto the bed, the twisting he had done while grooming having aggravated his wounds. He just felt an all over exhaustion. He realized he'd been fighting it off for a few days now, this feeling of being trapped, of being caged in this state of half angel half human. He'd thought it would be better after learning how to fly, but it seemed he was wrong. He had never had this many issues when he was a fully-fledged angel. He'd molted maybe once every decade, and though he'd had injuries to his wings, he'd had other angels to heal what he couldn't himself. He was eternally grateful to Sam and Dean for what they had done for him, but that didn't change the fact that he was pretty much a mortal, and it seemed that he couldn't really cut it.

Leaving his wings corporeal for the time being to slightly lessen the discomfort, he went down to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. After that nightmare, the last thing he wanted to do was sleep again, and it was almost dawn anyway. He gazed sadly out the window. Normally when he got up early like this he would go for a flight, but it would probably be a few days before his wings felt well enough again to do that. He really was a caged bird.

Once the coffee was finished he went into Bobby's study, and sat in one of the old, yet comfortable chairs there, picking up a book from the side table. The coffee did help to warm him a little and it wasn't long before Bobby was up, coming in to sit down at his computer, a cup of coffee in one hand.

"Thanks for making the brew," he said gruffly by way of greeting.

"You're welcome," Castiel said, then couldn't help but add, "At least I can still do something."

Bobby set the cup down on the desk a little heavily, turning around and folding his arms over his chest firmly. "Now, don't you dare go off like that again, son. You sure as hell know better than that."

Castiel huffed a little and shrugged. Bobby rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"You know all three of you idjits always go through this. Whenever something bad happens it's like it's the end of the world, and you all think it's your fault and you're worthless. Well, news flash, all that crap is just part of being human, and you have to grow some tougher skin if you're going to let it bother you. So a demon got the better of you, so you might be laid up for a couple days— _you're still alive_. That's all that matters."

Castiel ducked his head slightly, but Bobby's words rang with truth and he nodded.

"You went through Hell and survived, son," Bobby told him firmly. "Remember that. If that can't kill you then nothing can."

Castiel finally looked up at the older hunter, feeling a surge of strength come over him at Bobby's words. "You're right."

"Just don't be so hard on yourself," Bobby told him before he turned to sit at his desk and start his computer up, obviously indicating that the conversation was over.

But Castiel did feel better and also decided that he was hungry. He got up to make something for breakfast.

As he was cooking bacon in the pan, Sam stumbled in, running one bandaged hand through his mussed hair.

"Good morning, Cas," he said. "Sleep okay?"

Castiel shrugged. "Not really. But I'm getting there."

He dished up food onto the plates as Sam poured himself a cup of coffee, a little awkward with his gauze-wrapped hands. Castiel felt a twist in his stomach as he remembered the split-second decision that had led to Sam hurting himself—but saving Castiel. He realized he had never actually thanked the young man, which he would have to put to rights now.

"Sam, I'm sorry about your hands, but…thank you for what you did."

Sam smiled genuinely. "No problem Cas. My hands are a lot easier to heal than your wings."

Castiel shuddered at the memory, the possibility of what could have been, and sat at the table, giving Sam one of the plates.

"How are your wings anyway?" Sam asked him.

Castiel sighed. "Unfortunately I think the holy oil clogged up my own oil glands, and my wings are very dry from the washing. I'm not sure what to do as I've never had this happen before."

"Don't worry, we'll figure it out," Sam assured him.

"We also have to decide what to do about Crowley," Castiel added, picking up some of his eggs with a fork.

"The demon we…er…interrogated said that Crowley was looking for Lucifer's crypts," Sam said.

Castiel's brow furrowed. "Lucifer's crypts? That does not sound good."

"That's what we thought," Sam said. "I guess the people that they were torturing were the ones the demons possessed to get stuff out, or stash stuff for Lucifer during the apocalypse."

Castiel chewed thoughtfully. He had no idea what might have been kept in those crypts, but he was certain that none of it could be good.

"But we'll figure all that out once you get back on your feet," Sam told him. "We'll have some research to do anyway."

Castiel nodded, though secretly, he dreaded meeting with Crowley again. Hopefully next time he came face to face with the demon he would be ready.

He and Sam finished breakfast and then Sam pulled out his laptop to see if they could find anything out about how to help Castiel's wings. By that time Dean was up and getting himself caffeinated.

"Well, apparently this is a common occurrence after washing oil out of feathers," Sam said, flipping through several websites. "I think the easiest thing to do is just to put a warm washcloth over them. The heat should help release the blockage."

Castiel nodded and then decided to go back to his room to do it where there was more room and he could sit comfortably on his bed.

Sam got two washcloths and a bowl of hot water and set them on Castiel's bedside table. Dean dunked the cloths and then settled them over the spots on Castiel's wings where he had indicated his oil glands to be. Just having the heat there helped a little.

"Just let those sit for a while," Dean told him. "Then we'll see if it's working."

Castiel waited a few minutes then Dean took them off and gently probed one of the oil glands. Castiel scrunched his face up at the discomfort for the area was still a little tender, but Dean gave a small satisfied sound after a few seconds. "There we go. I think we're back in business."

Castiel sighed in relief as he reached up to prod the gland on his other wing and after a couple seconds felt the oil on his fingers. "Yes, that is definitely better."

"Okay, well, I guess we get to it," Dean said, clapping his hands together.

Castiel started on his flight feathers, Sam and Dean leaving his injured wing to him as they started on the places closest to his body that he couldn't reach. The whole process took way longer than usual since he had to spread the oils through his feathers afresh, but soon his feathers were shaping up again, regaining their glossy look as the barbs were hooked back together.

When they had finally finished, Dean sat back on his heels with a grunt. "Looks like we're done. Next we can braid Sam's hair."

"Shut up," Sam huffed a laugh as he smoothed one of Castiel's feathers down more completely and then stood up. "How does that feel, Cas?"

"Better," the angel replied.

"How about that missing feather?" Dean asked. "Will it keep you from flying?"

"It shouldn't, though I may have to learn how to adjust just a little. But it's still a little bit raw to fly so soon." Which was a shame, because the only thing Castiel really wanted to do was fly.

"Well, I'm not letting you fly until you get your stitches taken out anyway," Dean said firmly. "You're grounded until then."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, but acquiesced. That was fair, he supposed. Thankfully, the wounds should be mostly healed in another couple days.

"Fine," Castiel said, standing up. "That will give me time to research what Lucifer's crypts might have in them, and where we can find them."

Dean's eyes widened and he opened his mouth but Sam chuckled. "Good idea, Cas. I'll help."

Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Fine. I guess I can't stop you from doing research. Just don't get a paper cut or anything."

Castiel smirked and shook his head, but he was truly starting to feel better now. Dean's familiar mother-henning, Sam's quiet amusement, it made him feel at home. And he _was_ home. Even though he couldn't fly at the moment, even though they were on a new case that would likely only lead them into even more danger, he couldn't truly feel bothered because he was exactly where he wanted to be.

"Come on," he told the brothers. "We'll need more coffee."


End file.
